


Soft and Sweet

by dovingbird



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: First Date, Frottage, M/M, fun sexy times that is, mostly it's just cute boys going on their first date and having some fun times together, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt isn't one to publicly broadcast when he has a new crush, but working with Omar and hiding his crush on him at the same time is getting particularly difficult. Especially since Omar seems to...to be flirting with him? Wait, really?</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p>A filled commission for <a href="http://fckhaus.tumblr.com/">fckhaus</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft and Sweet

So Inside Gaming is one of those things that they don't talk about, and Matt can understand why. Part of it is the rights that they don't own, part of it is the people they left behind that they never care to see again, part of it is not lifting the potential shitstorm that could arise from the fans just by breathing its name.  
  
It all suits Matt, honestly. He didn't leave much behind. He transitioned over to Rooster Teeth with the people he cared the most about, and he's the sort of man who moves forward on the smoothest path anyway. Stepping over debris doesn't suit him. His legs are too tiny for that. His voice is too low to shout with the others. His heart is too soft to mix up in the chaos.  
  
That's part of the reason why he's accustomed to putting Inside Gaming out of sight and out of mind. Also part of the reason why he's slow to respond one day in the Funhaus office when he's waiting to film Open Haus, his headphones off and his eyes focused on the computer screen.  
  
“So, uh, since Spoole's tossing around the idea of heading back home, we've got some planning to do,” Bruce comments absently to James.  
  
James takes a bite of his apple, the crunch a satisfying crisp sound in Matt's ears that draws slightly more of his attention. “What, because of editing?”  
  
Matt doesn't glance over, but he leans in just a little more.  
  
“Yeah, I mean...” Bruce sighs. “Look, we're still growing. We can handle everything right now, but that's gonna put more strain on everyone. Especially Peake.”  
  
Matt focuses even harder on the screen, moving around his mouse and clicking at random. He's totally working right now.  
  
There's a moment of quiet. “Okay, so we put out a feeler for new employees.”  
  
“Ugh. You know exactly how that's gonna end.”  
  
“Roughly thirty thousand unqualified people sending in their badly designed resumes because they've always wanted to work with Rooster Teeth?”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
  
Matt finally glances over just in time to see James pat Bruce on the shoulder. “Just another part of the job, my friend.”  
  
“Are you guys talking about a new editor?” Elyse asks as she pops in behind them with some freshly made coffee in hand.  
  
“Yeah,” Bruce says, leaning back in his seat to look up at her.  
  
“I mean, I don't wanna start any rumors...”  
  
“Please do,” James says. “I've been bored recently.”  
  
“...but I was talking to the GT guys the other day? Hung out with a couple of them? And apparently Omar's thinking about getting out of there too.”  
  
Why does that name ring a bell? It's not a common one. Matt flicks his eyes back to the screen and squints in thought.  
  
“Omar? De Armas?” James asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Elyse says. “Didn't think you'd remember him.”  
  
Bruce already sounds confused. “Should I?”  
  
“Omar worked with Inside Gaming for like a month before you guys left, and then he came over to us.”  
  
“Oh. Oh! The end of the year content! Yeah, Omar, I remember him!”  
  
The face hits Matt like a sledgehammer: the tawny skin, the warm eyes, the broad glasses, the round cheeks, the jaunty smile. Oh. Yeah, he remembers him too.  
  
“I can get his resume if you want,” Elyse says in a leading tone. “I can't recommend him highly enough.”  
  
“Yeah, you know what? Do that. I'll take a look at it.”  
  
Matt rubs his hand over his beard in thought, eyes fixed on the pixels on his screen. He remembers brushing paths with Omar so briefly before all of them moved on. They'd never had a solid conversation, but he can still remember the warmth of his smile, the sound of his laugh when one of them said something ridiculous. Can remember him far better than he wants to.  
  
It's a facet of Matt's religious upbringing that has him feeling uncomfortable about the fact that ultimately he remembers Omar because of the immediate response that Matt's body had to him. He couldn't describe why it happened then and he can't describe why he still feels affected now. All he knows is that just focusing too hard on the memory of catching Omar's eyes from across the room and staring a few seconds too long before Matt sheepishly looked away is enough to kick up a touch of adrenaline in his gut.  
  
“Everyone set up to cap?”  
  
Matt looks up quickly, realizes that everyone's settled in for Open Haus, and he flies through the programs to get his mic and camera set up. His hand's too fast, and he misses the icons twice before he settles on both.  
  
Man. He really needs to go work out and burn this energy.  
  
  
~~  
  
  
So being in an office with Omar isn't...bad. It isn't. It's been a couple of months and Matt's adjusted well enough.  
  
He absolutely can't hold a conversation with him, but that's probably fine.  
  
Look, it's just a process, okay? That's what he keeps telling himself while he burrows a little deeper into his hoodie when he hears Bruce and Omar discussing something directly behind him regarding a video crashing while uploading on a tight schedule. Getting comfortable speaking to a new hire openly is a process, especially for someone like Matt, who isn't...shy, really, just quiet and observant and preferring to listen rather than speak, and just...  
  
He's absolutely making excuses. And Matt doesn't like doing that. He's always held himself to a higher standard than everyone else, and honestly that just means that he has to stop piddling around in his head and do something. It's for the good of camaraderie in the office. That's all.  
  
Omar looks a little less put together one day, darker circles under his eyes and looser clothes than usual and slightly crooked glasses, and Matt doesn't say a word to anyone for the first half hour of the day. When he eventually makes his way to the kitchen he drums his fingers lightly on the counter while staring at his ultimate destination.  
  
By the time he makes it back to Omar's desk with the cup of coffee, he's sweating from every pore on his body.  
  
Omar's wearing headphones and focused on his screen, but when Matt sets down the coffee he blinks and looks up at Matt, tugging the headphones off, and for a moment Matt forgets how to speak. The use of language comes back in a rush, and he points vaguely. “I got you some coffee.”  
  
“Oh,” Omar says, but Matt apparently isn't finished because words keep pouring out.  
  
“And I didn't know exactly how you liked it, so I...” He pauses, placing down roughly seven little cups of creamer. “I got you things for it.” Ten packets of sugar come falling out of his baggy hoodie sleeves. “So that you could. Prepare it.” He takes a spoon out of his pocket and unwraps it from the paper towel he had it contained in. “It's clean. I had it wrapped.”  
  
Omar looks down for a moment, taking everything in, and when he looks back up at Matt his eyes are sparkling. “So what you're telling me is I look like shit today.”  
  
Red alert, abort, abort. “No! No, you, no, you look great.” Much to Matt's dismay the rambling keeps happening as Omar slowly smiles at him. “No, I mean, you look tired, but you look great. While you're tired.” Matt shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and shrinks back a step. “I just wanted to help.”  
  
“Well, even if you do think I look like a tired old bag, I appreciate it all.” Omar plants his elbow on the desk and rests his chin in one of his soft hands as he grins at him.  
  
Matt's the worst at everything. Absolutely the worst. He tries not to focus on how soft Omar's lips seem or how bright his eyes are or how warm his skin looks. “Well.”  
  
“The extras, especially,” Omar adds before Matt can feel awkward about not actually making a sentence. He opens the cups of creamer and begins pouring them in, stirring with the spoon. “I like my coffee like I like my men.”  
  
Somewhere in Matt's chest his heart jerks to a stop and his eyes fly up to Omar's. “Yeah?”  
  
“Creamy as fuck.”  
  
Matt stares before he realizes that it was absolutely supposed to be a joke. He manages a little laugh. “Funny.”  
  
Omar meets his eyes with a smile.  
  
The conversation has come to a halt, mostly due to Matt's inability to speak like a regular human being. He clears his throat. “Do you...need anything else?”  
  
“Nah, I'm good, man, thanks again.”  
  
“Yep.” Matt doesn't say anything else, just turns and goes back to his desk and sits and puts his headphones on and generally tries to sink into his chair until he's completely hidden.  
  
  
~~  
  
  
Drunk Souls is when everything comes to a head, and honestly Matt should've seen that going in. Matt off alcohol is quiet and observant, but Matt on alcohol has a looser tongue, a fouler mouth, clumsier fingers. He settles into his chair when they get ready to play Speedrunners, making sure he's in proper view of the camera, and someone sinking into the chair beside him draws his eye.  
  
It's Omar. A rush of heat shoots through Matt, and he can already feel the burn in his jaw, the urge to open his mouth and let shit spill out.  
  
He's saved, thankfully, by Lawrence perching between Omar and Matt, just enough behind them that they're still next to each other but just close enough that he'd hear everything they so much as murmured. For the best, really. Omar's a friendly guy, a hard worker, funny as hell, but actually making a move on him would be a terrible idea, and not for the fact that Matt's never initiated a move on a man in his life.  
  
It'd be shitty and he'd screw it up. That's really what it comes down to.  
  
Matt feels himself trying more, though. Speaking more than he normally intends to, even with the flush of alcohol through his system. Trying to crack jokes just to catch a glimpse of Omar's smile. When he finally gets the controller he even tries to play well, to impress him, even though he feels like a kid for doing it, and his luck is just bad enough that he's the first one out of the game every single time. It's fucking bullshit.  
  
“This is fucking bullshit,” he intones seriously.  
  
What he doesn't want to think about is the fact that he's playing so badly because Omar smells incredible. Is it a new cologne? New detergent? New shampoo? He has no idea. He keeps trying to think of a calm, secret way that he could lean in close to find out, and there is none. It doesn't exist. And it's all maddening enough that he's actually thankful for the excuse of the pizza when it arrives.  
  
He stands silently in the kitchen as he fills his plate with pizza and snags another beer, and when he turns around he comes face to face with Omar. Matt blinks. Omar smiles. “Hungry guy,” Omar comments.  
  
Matt looks down and tries to remember if he consciously selected four pieces. “I mean, they kind of just put it in front of me, so.”  
  
“Not a man of discernment?” Omar asks as he passes by him much too close for comfort, too quickly that Matt doesn't remember the whole secretly-smell-Omar thing until it's too late. Is Omar teasing him? Both with words and with proximity? Is that big-headed of Matt to wonder that?  
  
It's been a few seconds, Matt realizes, and he speaks again without thinking. “I'm picky about most things, but pizza is just...”  
  
Omar waits for him to finish the sentence, and when he doesn't he smiles over his shoulder. “Oh, is _that_ why you're single?”  
  
Matt tries to remember if this has ever come up in conversation ever since Omar came to work in the office. “Sort of.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
He wants more? Matt leans against the counter. “I'm kind of a workaholic is all. I don't have a lot of time for a relationship.”  
  
“I see.” Silence. “So you don't even date these days?”  
  
“I'm not against the idea.” Matt tries to figure out how they even got on this subject while trying to keep his heart and mind from racing. “I just don't go looking for it.”  
  
“So if someone asked you on a date you wouldn't turn them down flat?”  
  
He shrugs. “It depends on the person, I guess.”  
  
Omar leans into the counter next to Matt. “You have a type?”  
  
Matt blinks at him.  
  
Omar grins. “C'mon, are you a boobs or a butt guy? Or a leg guy, even?”  
  
Matt can't help but smile back, lips stretched so wide that they almost hurt, and his eyes trail downward. “I mean, they all sort of make a good package, don't they?” His eyes sort of linger on various parts of Omar, but he's pretty sure he won't notice.  
  
“Oh, you're a _package_ guy, I see.”  
  
“They're not bad.” Red alert, abort, abort. “So, uh, I, I should probably go eat this.”  
  
Omar is still grinning at him. “Yeah?” He tilts his head. “Want some company?”  
  
Shit, fuck, damn. “I mean, I was just gonna edit.”  
  
“Oh, Matt.” Omar clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You'll get crumbs all in your keyboard. That's no good.”  
  
Every time he inhales Omar smells even better. Matt tries to figure out if he can maybe hold his breath and talk at the same time. “I'm just. I need to finish this video. That's all.”  
  
Omar chuckles. “All right, all right, I know when I'm not wanted,” he says.  
  
“Not wanted?” He needs to put some duct tape on his mouth right now. He needs to stop. He needs- “I didn't say you're not wanted.”  
  
Silence. Omar stares at him for a moment, then quirks a brow. “Yeah?”  
  
Self-destruct sequence engaged. His mouth is dry. He needs at least seven more beers. “I'm gonna go edit,” Matt finally manages because there's nothing else he can say, and he ducks his head and shuffles back into the office to the dulcet tones of everyone screaming at the TV.  
  
Because he is a strong man of fortitude and self-discipline Matt doesn't look over his shoulder to see if Omar's watching him. And anyway, he thinks as he sinks into his chair and tugs his hoodie tighter around him, he doesn't need to. Not when he can feel Omar's eyes practically burning into his spine.  
  
  
~~  
  
  
They finish the stream. The cameras and mics get cut. Lights are turned off. Ubers are called. And while Matt is standing outside waiting for his, the others close enough to make him feel less alone but far enough that he's not forcibly included in the conversation, he feels one of them move closer.  
  
“Can I ask you a question?” Omar asks.  
  
Matt swallows hard. “Yeah, what's up?”  
  
“Do you wanna have dinner with me next Friday?”  
  
Matt blinks. He slowly turns his head. He stares up at Omar and tries to figure out if he heard the question correctly. “Dinner?”  
  
“Yeah,” Omar says. Completely calm, completely unconcerned. Just smiling down at him.  
  
Matt opens his mouth, then closes it. “...yeah, that'd be cool. Do you...wanna hang out after?”  
  
Omar's quiet for a long moment. “I do, but I mean, I was kind of hoping we'd categorize this as a date, not a hang out.”  
  
Oh. _Oh._ Matt's pulse thuds so fast that he feels lightheaded, and he sways, feels his heart freeze when Omar reaches out to grab his bicep. He can feel how strong Omar's hand is even through the thick layers of clothes. That's bullshit. It takes Matt a long moment to catch on, too focused on Omar touching him, too caught up in how strong and solid he looks in the streetlight. “Yeah,” Matt's eventually saying because he doesn't like to lie. “Yeah, that'd be cool.”  
  
Omar immediately grins from ear to ear. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Omar squeezes Matt's arm, then firmly rubs his thumb over his bicep, and Matt feels a shiver slide down his spine. “All right,” Omar says, soft and low. “I'll text you about the details?”  
  
Matt nods. “Yeah.” He has no other words in his conversational arsenal, but apparently Omar doesn't seem to care.  
  
“Cool.”  
  
“Omar!” Bruce calls. “Your Uber's here!”  
  
“All right!” Omar calls back, then tosses his arm around Matt's shoulder, and it takes Matt a moment to realize that he's being given a hug. It's fleeting and quick and he doesn't even have time to hug Omar back before he's heading away. “Have a good night, Matt,” Omar says, eyes locked on Matt's for a long moment before he turns and gets into the car.  
  
The shock sets in slowly, and Matt leans back against the streetlight and lets out a shaky burst of air. Okay. Okay. Apparently this is happening.  
  
What in the world do you wear on a date with a guy?  
  
  
~~  
  
  
Matt stands in front of his closet the second he gets back, hoodie discarded in the living room, and stares at his clothes. He owns t-shirts. He owns a _lot_ of t-shirts. Are those suitable for whatever date Omar wants to take him on? He lets out a soft breath, is proud when it doesn't shake around the edges, and reaches up to rub his beard in thought as he considers it all.  
  
“Hey, Peake.” Bruce's voice calls his attention, and he turns his head slightly. “Your phone's been going off. Thought I'd bring it to you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Matt says softly, still looking over the clothes.  
  
There's quiet after Bruce tosses Matt's phone onto his bed. “You okay?”  
  
“Mm-hmm.” He nods. “Yeah.”  
  
Bruce pauses. “Okay, well, just wanted to check on you.”  
  
Matt waits until Bruce steps out of view of the closet before he says “Omar asked me out.”  
  
Bruce literally trips back into view, grabbing the doorframe on his way to steady himself. “He did what?”  
  
“Asked me out.” Matt looks over. “Like on a date.”  
  
In all the months they've been rooming together, Matt hasn't seen Bruce gape quite like that. It's a face you use when you're on camera, not a genuine one you keep for your arsenal of expressions. Eventually Bruce blinks rapidly. “Oh. Well, are you...are you interested in him?”  
  
Matt feels his heart start beating a little faster, feels the urge to work out again so he can put the adrenaline to good use. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”  
  
“I didn't...” Bruce pauses, clearly weighing his thoughts, and Matt holds his eyes. “Sorry, I just, I didn't know you were even interested in guys.”  
  
He shrugs. “Most people don't.” He looks back at his clothes. “I've never been out with a guy before.”  
  
“So are you, like...are you have a gay crisis?”  
  
“Nah,” Matt says easily. “More like a fashion crisis.”  
  
“Oh! Oh, well.” Bruce shoulders into the closet next to Matt, strong and solid, and Matt looks up at him. “I can help with that.”  
  
Matt smiles. “You think so?”  
  
“Well, I mean, we've practically got the same wardrobe, don't we?”  
  
Matt chuckles. “Yeah, I guess that's true.”  
  
They're quiet for a moment in this tiny closet, both staring at the line of shirts, before Bruce clears his throat. “Now, Omar's a good guy and all, but you're my friend and my roommate, so, you know, if he does anything you don't like-”  
  
“Are you giving me a protective dad speech right now?”  
  
“Hey!” Bruce shouts, voice cracking. “Hey, I'm just trying to be supportive of your gay exploration!”  
  
“Trust me, it's not exploration,” Matt says as he slides past Bruce to go grab his phone, hearing it vibrate with the reminder of the text. “That was college. And it's not gay.”  
  
“It's not?” Bruce's voice cracks again and Matt grins.  
  
“No, it's not.” He picks up his phone and clicks through to his texts. “It's bi.”  
  
Omar wants to take him out for barbecue. That alleviates the stress of date outfits a bit, doesn't it? You don't wear a suit to get barbecue. You barely even wear a _nice_ t-shirt. That's just asking for it to be ruined. He texts back his acceptance of the plan, pauses, then adds a smiley face even though it makes his cheeks feel warm.  
  
He hears Bruce start to shuffle out of the room, so Matt turns his head. “Hey, Bruce?”  
  
Bruce looks over his shoulder. “Yeah, Peake?”  
  
“Is it weird for you to think about living with a bi guy?”  
  
Bruce wrinkles his brow. “Peake, you're one of the weirdest roommates I've ever had, and I've lived with _Lawrence._ ” He laughs and shakes his head. “You being bi isn't the weirdest thing about you.”  
  
Matt stares back very seriously. “Are you going to make fun of my pull-up bar in the door again?”  
  
“Absolutely not.” Bruce ducks under said pull-up bar carefully as he heads back down the hall. “You'll make me do ten reps on it as punishment.”  
  
Matt chuckles as he perches on his bed, and as his phone vibrates he almost drops it with how quickly he goes to open the texts again. It's a quick text from Omar - _”It's a date :)”_ \- and Matt bites his bottom lip as he flops back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling and tries very very hard not to think about kissing Omar good night.  
  
  
~~  
  
  
Matt is typically early. He's the first one in the office in the mornings, he's first in line to buy tickets for events he's interested in...he was even born three days before his due date. So when he gets to the restaurant first, he's both unsurprised and nervous about what to do. Does he wait for Omar? Does he get a table?  
  
He ends up awkwardly shuffling around the front of the restaurant, the hostess that looks like she's still in high school smiling at him patiently from the stand. It ends up being worth it when Omar comes inside and his face breaks into a huge grin at the mere sight of Matt. “Hey,” he says, coming forward with open arms, and Matt hesitates before he slides between them, lets Omar give him a hug. “I'm so sorry, am I late?”  
  
“No,” Matt says distantly, distracted by how soft Omar is against him. “No, I'm just early.”  
  
Omar hums in response, and Matt realizes with horror that he'd be content being this close to Omar for the rest of the night. He's not easy, is he? How many times did he get lectured in Sunday school once he was a teenager about not being easy? Maybe not in those exact terms, but...  
  
Omar finally pulls back, and when Matt looks up at him he sees Omar's soft smile, his sparkling eyes, and he fights the urge to look away sheepishly even as Omar speaks. “It's good to see you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Matt murmurs. Golden conversationalist when he's sober, isn't he? He pushes for something more. “It's always good to see you.”  
  
Omar chuckles and dips his head, but he's still smiling, so it had to be a good thing to say. When he peeks back up at Matt he tilts his head toward the hostess. “Wanna get a table?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Matt's sort of thankful that the entire restaurant is just tables rather than booths because if they'd ended up in one he'd have to spend a nice long time confronting the fact that he'd want to curl up on the same side of the booth as Omar, and he's not quite ready to accept how silly that would be right now. So he sits across from Omar and folds his hands on the cheap checkerboard tablecloth and inspects the menu.  
  
“Do you wanna do like an appetizer?” Omar asks.  
  
“No,” Matt says immediately, then glances up with a smile so Omar knows he didn't mean to be short with him. “I mean, the whole point of a barbecue place is to eat your whole weight in meat, right?”  
  
Omar laughs, but he leans forward on his elbows, resting his chin in his hands. “Guess it's a good thing I picked this place, then,” Omar says with a sly grin. “I didn't really know that you wanted to stuff yourself with meat.”  
  
Did he intend what he thinks Omar intended? He stares at Omar blankly for a moment before Matt laughs and dips his head, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“Sorry,” Omar's already saying, shaking his head. “It was right there, I just-”  
  
Matt waves him off. “No, it's okay, it was funny.” He gives Omar a crooked smile and for a moment they stare at each other, and then Matt looks away, scanning the restaurant. “Now we just need a server so I can fill my mouth with spicy meat.”  
  
Omar immediately bursts into laughter again. “There's a cream for that, I think,” he says, then pauses. “Or was that a commentary on certain ethnicities?” he teases.  
  
“I wouldn't know,” Matt says, drumming his fingers over the table, then peeks over at Omar to see if he's said too much. Omar is watching him closely, his eyes narrowed slightly in thought, and when he lets out a low knowing sound Matt's immediately grateful for the arrival of said server to get their orders so Omar doesn't say what's on his mind.  
  
Omar is a wonder of a date partner, honestly. Every time that Matt starts to feel self-conscious of not having much to talk about, Omar is sweeping in and asking Matt questions about his life, his family, his childhood, his degree in college. Matt never runs out of answers and Omar seems genuinely pleased to hear everything that Matt has to say.  
  
And when the food comes? It's even better. They can sink into the kind of companionable silence that is necessary for stuffing one's mouth with delicious messy food, humming in near ecstasy over the flavor of it.  
  
“Try it,” Omar coaxes at one point, scooping up some of his brisket on his fork and holding it across the table, “it's incredible.”  
  
Matt locks eyes with Omar as he takes a bite and chews in contemplation and nods sagely. “I would consider selling my firstborn for that,” he concludes, and Omar laughs again.  
  
That's just it. Omar is completely happy to be here with Matt. Omar, who Matt so studiously avoided prolonged contact with because he was so worried about being enchanted with more than his looks, but with his mind, his humor, his voice, all of it.  
  
After they've finished eating and the server has prebussed their table down to all but their drinks, Matt tilts his head to the side and studies Omar so seriously that Omar blinks a few times. “What?” Omar asks.  
  
“I wasted a lot of time,” Matt says softly.  
  
Omar waits for more, and when it doesn't come he slides his sneaker forward, gently bumps it into the side of Matt's shoe like a single point of steadying contact. “Yeah?”  
  
“I've been interested in you for a while,” Matt murmurs. “But I was scared to do anything about it. Because I thought you might not be interested in me. So I wasted literally months because I didn't wanna take that step forward.”  
  
For a moment Omar simply watches him, and then he shakes his head with a low, unbelieving laugh. “Matt, I...how the hell could someone _not_ be interested in a guy like you?”  
  
Matt considers this. “Well, they might want more attention than I can give them, or they might not be interested in men, or-”  
  
“That was hypothetical, Peake,” Omar teases with a smile. “You're hard-working. You're kind. You're brilliant. You're driven. And that's enough to make a guy like me take notice and, y'know, maybe make a move, even when a guy like you likes to wait for guidance.”  
  
Is that what he's like? Matt tips his head to the side. Just because he wants to be aware of all of his options before he moves forward and that he respects authority that knows better than him, does that mean he waits too much? And is that a bad thing?  
  
He's considering all of this when Omar bites his lips together and slides his freshly washed hand across the table to brush his fingers over Matt's, and a sharp shiver shoots straight down Matt's spine followed by thick, gooey lava melting over him. Matt stares at their hands as Omar coaxes their fingers together, begins to play gently with Matt's hand like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.  
  
Matt is so focused on the moment, so attuned to his every sense, that he can hear the slightly wet, audible pop of Omar's mouth opening before he speaks. “Do you need to go ahead and go home, Matt? Busy night?”  
  
Matt flicks his eyes up and meets Omar's gaze. “No,” he says. “I cleared my schedule for the night.”  
  
They hold eye contact, and Omar laces their fingers together. “You haven't seen my apartment yet, have you?” he asks.  
  
Oh. Oh man. Matt's heart takes off at such a breakneck pace that he forgets how to function for a moment, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No I haven't.”  
  
The smooth press of Omar's thumb over the back of Matt's hand is possibly the most distracting thing he's ever felt in his life. “Would you like to?” And this time his voice is pitched low, warm, practically silk over Matt's skin, and that would've made his decision for him if he hadn't already been so eager, let's be honest.  
  
So Matt nods just as slowly, forcing himself to remember how to breathe, as he quietly says “Yeah, I really would.”  
  
  
~~  
  
  
He follows Omar to his apartment, his mind racing the entire time. He's doing this. Is he doing this? Omar's not the kind of guy to pressure someone, is he? He's always seemed so patient, minus with his performance during drunk gaming nights at the office. He's never screamed about an edit gone wrong or losing progress during a failed render or anything. He's just. He's just Omar.  
  
Matt reassures himself that he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do, and then he goes right back to thinking of the heat in Omar's eyes behind his glasses at the restaurant. The slight roughness of the pad of his thumb from controllers and computer mice and keyboards as it ran over the back of Matt's hand. How warm and solid he'd felt when he hugged Matt at his car, as if they weren't about to see each other again in ten minutes.  
  
Well, it would...it would certainly be an ideal experience, wouldn't it? With someone so soft and yielding?  
  
Or would he maybe not yield at all? He remembers the forwardness in Omar's gaze, the careful way he'd steered the invitation, leaving the ball in Matt's court without any pressure but also very clearly showing interest. Maybe he wouldn't yield. Maybe he would advance.  
  
There's sweat beading on the back of Matt's neck, and he can't decide if it's from the end of California's winter or the heat of his thoughts. He pushes them aside out of instinct after years of religious upbringing, leans forward to click the air conditioner in his car up another notch, and takes a deep breath.  
  
He'll deal with this if and when it comes. And right now he'll just focus on not losing Omar's car in the ridiculousness that is California's traffic.  
  
  
~~  
  
  
Not only does Omar pick a place where there are two parking spots next to each other in the apartment parking lot, but he waits patiently for Matt to get out of his car even though Matt fumbles and drops his keys in the floorboard and feels endlessly flustered when he goes to collect them. “Sorry,” Matt's already saying as he climbs out, “sorry.”  
  
“It's okay,” Omar says back with a smile, and Matt's grateful that he doesn't try to reassure him further than that, that he accepts Matt's nerves as a real and valid thing rather than try and pretend they don't exist. Omar holds out his hand and Matt takes it, focusing on the plumpness of the skin under his own fingers.  
  
Is Matt's hand sweating? He should let go and check, yeah? That would be the best way to go about things? But before he can think too hard about it Omar is gently squeezing his hand and saying “Relax, I'm taking you to see my apartment, not the sex dungeon,” and Matt laughs because that's the right thing to do rather than say _”You have a sex dungeon?”_ and seem too overeager.  
  
Omar still holds Matt's hand while he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door, and he seems so capable in that moment without any fumbling and Matt feels envious. He knows that most people would categorize him as the solid and calm one of the office, and that has its merit, but in moments like this? Where he has no idea what he's doing? Where he's shaking just enough to be noticeable? He can shrug the quiet on like one of his hoodies and hide under it, but when Omar smiles at him as he opens the door Matt knows that he can feel it, can see it, can recognize every fear that Matt's trying to hide.  
  
That is...both unsettling and comforting, honestly.  
  
Omar lets Matt precede him into the apartment, and Matt pauses once he's in far enough not to block the door. “Wow,” Matt says softly, looking around. “It's nice.”  
  
“My mom and aunt came to visit me when I moved in,” Omar says with a laugh. “They helped me decorate.”  
  
The living room is draped in bright, bold colors that he can see the depth of even with most of the lights off. It certainly makes a statement, full of life and movement, and he's content to drink it all in, especially when Matt wears nothing but grays and blacks and decorates his bedroom in much the same fashion. He's still looking when the door is locked behind them and the keys are placed on a nail by the door and one of Omar's hands lightly runs down Matt's back and makes him shiver.  
  
“Do you want some water or anything?” Omar asks. Is his voice pitched low or is that just Matt's imagination?  
  
“Uh.” He considers the state of his mouth. “No, I, I don't think I'm thirsty, thank you.”  
  
“Okay.” The hand rests on the small of Matt's back, and Matt finds himself wishing that it would keep going, wonders what it would feel like to have his rear end cupped so intimately. “Something sweet, then?”  
  
“I'm, uh, I'm still pretty full.” How is Matt supposed to focus on conversation when Omar is so close? “But thanks.”  
  
Omar pauses. “What if I didn't mean dessert?”  
  
Matt turns his head and realizes that Omar is smiling and is in fact closer than he anticipated, and he feels a rush of heat shooting through him and making him light-headed. He swallows hard, eyes flicking down to Omar's mouth before he realizes that it could be taken as creepy, and Matt parts his lips and takes in a deep breath as he meets Omar's eyes again. “That depends on what you meant,” he says slowly.  
  
Omar isn't scared to cup Matt's cheek, and Matt is feeling frustrated that he didn't shave when Omar says “I think you're a really attractive guy. And I like you a lot. And I'd really like to kiss you.”  
  
And honestly at that point how is Matt supposed to be able to think anything other than “Okay”?  
  
The press of Omar's lips against his own is...is far better than Matt could've expected, honestly. Soft, warm, perfectly molded to Matt's, gently working Matt's mouth open and then letting it fall shut again in a sweet caress. And Omar is pulling back then far too soon, murmuring “Thank you” with a smile, and turning on his heel as he says that he's going to give Matt the apartment tour.  
  
Matt doesn't really mean to catch Omar's hand and he doesn't mean to make a low noise either, so when Omar turns around with his eyebrows lifted in question Matt has no idea how to respond.  
  
“Yes?” Omar prompts.  
  
“I...” Matt looks away, lets go of Omar's hand, blinks. “Never mind.”  
  
There's only a second of pause before Omar is stepping into Matt's space. “Did you want something?” he asks, voice low and smooth.  
  
A thrill shoots over Matt's skin as he looks up and meets Omar's eyes. “...yes.”  
  
“What did you want?” Omar asks, tilting his head.  
  
He can't put it to voice, he just can't. He tries very hard, tries to think of laying it out as evenly and calmly as possible, but the mere thought makes his cheeks hot under his beard. “...I...”  
  
“Did you want more?” Omar finally asks, catching Matt's cheek under his soft palm.  
  
“Yes,” Matt blurts out because Omar's dark eyes are hot where they're resting on his and he can't think of anything he wants more.  
  
Omar takes another step forward when he leans in, pressing their chests together, and Matt stumbles back against the door with a low murmur against Omar's mouth. There's the steadying touch of Omar's other hand cupping the back of Matt's head to protect him from slamming it on the door, and there's the hot press of Omar's body against his, and Matt is helpless to do anything but yield to the sensations racing through him.  
  
It's weird doing this sober, he thinks distantly, his hands pressing into the soft curve of Omar's waist in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to kiss him deeper. He oversteps the rhythm of Omar's kiss and makes it sloppy and slick, and that's not a bad thing, necessarily, but it's possible that Omar doesn't like it, right? It's possible that the soft hum Omar makes and the way he digs his fingers into Matt's hair is a, a sign of him disliking it, probably, just...  
  
Omar breaks the kiss and touches his mouth to Matt's neck. “You're thinking too hard,” he murmurs.  
  
Matt shivers when he feels the rumbling of Omar's tone, gets distracted by tipping his head further to give Omar more room to explore. “I-I do that,” Matt gasps out.  
  
“I know.” Omar slides his hands up the back of Matt's hoodie and when Matt bucks his hips forward on instinct Omar groans, presses his fingers into his back. “Fuck-”  
  
“I'm sorry,” Matt's already saying.  
  
“Don't be.” Omar presses a messy kiss to Matt's jawline, then right at the edge of his lips, then catches them one more time with a murmur. “Is this too fast?”  
  
Matt tries to think with his brain and not his dick, interested as it is, but all he can think of is the strength in Omar's fingers, the electricity shooting down Matt's spine, the feel of the tide washing forward inside of him that wants to crash into Omar over and over again. “No,” he finally says. “No, no, it's good.”  
  
“Okay.” Omar pulls Matt into his arms in a sharp embrace that presses the air out of Matt. “Do you...wanna go somewhere else?”  
  
Matt blinks. “Like...like what?”  
  
“My bedroom?” Omar prompts.  
  
Matt stares and can't help but chuckle. “I totally thought you meant, like, a Starbucks or something.”  
  
Omar grins and steals another kiss, then shakes his head. “You're so fucking cute, Christ.”  
  
“Yeah,” Matt mumbles, and Omar laughs again. “No, yeah, that sounds good. Your bedroom.”  
  
“Okay.” Omar snags Matt's hand and guides him down the hall.  
  
Matt can feel the assumptions and the questions already and decides to cut to the chase as they walk. “I've never done anything with a guy, really.”  
  
“Yeah?” Omar squeezes his hand. “We don't have to do anything.”  
  
“No, that's...” Matt clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, we can just, umm...”  
  
“What do you want?” Omar asks, opening his bedroom door, glancing over his shoulder.  
  
Matt's dick twitches in his pants and his breath catches. “Anything.”  
  
“Okay.” Omar sounds calm, and Matt appreciates it. Matt's a car going down a hill with no brakes right now, but Omar's here to take over and keep him on the road. Matt perches on the edge of the bed and watches as Omar fishes a few things out of his end table – a bottle of lube, a condom, a clean handtowel – and as Omar sits on his knees next to Matt, Matt forgets how to breathe. “So you haven't done anything at all with a guy?”  
  
Matt shrugs. “I...I made out with some guys at college. Drunk.”  
  
“That's it?”  
  
He tries to figure out if he should feel embarrassed when he nods.  
  
Omar grins at him. “So we'll go slow.”  
  
Matt nods, and then he pulls off his hoodie and shirt in one smooth motion and throws them both aside, and Omar's eyes drink in Matt's torso like he's never seen anything finer. “We don't have to.”  
  
For the first time, Omar seems to lose his voice, just flicks out his tongue to moisten his lips as he takes in his fill. And when they lock eyes again, his pupils are black and filling his irises. “Okay,” he murmurs warmly. “Just tell me if I need to stop.”  
  
As Omar presses him into the bed and kisses him again Matt feels his skin burning for him, aching to touch his, and Matt fumbles to pull Omar's shirt off so he can press their bodies together from head to toe and shiver at the thrill of skin-on-skin contact. He's perfect. He's so perfect. He's soft and warm with golden skin that gives so perfectly under Matt's tentative hands, hands that get braver by the second. Matt doesn't even care that Omar's glasses slip off his nose and fall on Matt's face because it just means that he gets to hear him laugh again as he apologizes and sets them aside, loose strands of black hair falling in his eyes, a rosy flush over his cheeks.  
  
Matt feels like he should apologize too for the way that he lets out a fervent _”Yes”_ when Omar ducks to gently bite at his neck again, but he can't bring himself to. He's too focused on the heat of their bodies, the sting of Omar's teeth, the mindless way that Matt's hips shift until they slot against Omar's and- “Oh,” Matt breathes, rolling his hips, gasping at the electric press of their hard cocks together in their pants.  
  
“We can slow down,” Omar's murmuring again, and Matt's barely thinking when he interjects with _”I don't want to,”_ because every other time his mind's been foggy with alcohol and tentative and nervous, and here he's sober and aware and safe.  
  
And it's Omar. And as much as Matt's mind wants to remind him of years of religious guilt, years of tentative retreat, all he can taste and smell and hear and see and want is him.  
  
Omar lets out a sharp breath against Matt's neck, digging his fingers into his waist just above his jeans. “Let me blow you,” he says.  
  
“No,” Matt replies quickly, “no, absolutely not, I will...I'll lose it in five seconds, you can't.”  
  
Omar growls in frustration, then chuckles just as fast. “Next time?”  
  
“Yeah.” Matt reaches for his belt, feels a shock in his gut when Omar brushes his hands aside and goes to do it himself. “Will you fuck me?”  
  
“What?” Omar asks. “No foreplay, just kisses to straight fucking?”  
  
Is that bad? Is that wrong? Matt's heart thuds in his chest. “I just...”  
  
“I mean, technically I guess it's not straight fucking, it's pretty much the farthest thing from it, but...”  
  
Matt barks out a nervous laugh. “I just want you.”  
  
Omar grins up at him. “And I just wanna take my time with you.”  
  
“I mean...” Matt licks his lips. “I guess you can do that, but I'm absolutely going to come immediately and ruin all your plans.”  
  
“You want me that bad?” Omar asks roughly.  
  
Matt covers his face and that's the only way he can murmur _”Yes.”_  
  
There's a pause. And then Omar says “I've got an idea,” and Matt feels his pants and boxers get tugged away. “...fuck, Matt.”  
  
“What?” Matt asks from behind his hands.  
  
“You're so...you're gorgeous, you're a fucking Greek god, I just...” There's the sound of another belt, and Matt peeks over his hands just in time to see Omar kick his own pants away.  
  
“Look who's talking,” Matt says charmingly and articulately, as always, and Omar laughs and kisses him before he grabs the lube and slicks his thick cock up and, and he...Matt half-sits up when Omar presses Matt's legs together and proceeds to fuck between his thighs. “Oh,” Matt breathes, eyes wide.  
  
“Good?” Omar asks, one hand pressing into the mattress beside Matt's head, the other on Matt's hip.  
  
“Y-yeah,” Matt says, too focused on the feel of Omar's cock moving between his thighs, on the heat rolling off of it, on...fuck, on Omar pressing him down into the mattress again and his soft belly rubbing against Matt's dick, and just...  
  
Matt sucks in a shaky breath as he touches a tentative hand to Omar's hip, slides it down to cup his ass, tangles the other hand in his hair and pulls him down for another feverish kiss. There's no room for thought, just, just feeling, just sensation.  
  
There's the teasing press of Omar's cock along the swell of Matt's ass, between his cheeks, and all Matt can think about is Omar pressing further, pressing inside of him, and his dick twitches against Omar's belly, against the hypnotic pressure there, so soft but so unyielding, so constant, so-  
  
“I'm gonna come,” Matt mumbles, digging his fingers into Omar's shoulders to pull him closer, and Omar nods, breathes out an affirmation, fucks a little faster, a little harder, and Matt arches off the bed with a quiet groan as he comes, grinding against Omar's stomach, panting so desperately, and everything's only jacked up an inch higher when Omar presses him so hard into the mattress that he has no choice but to give in, to let Omar control the way he fucks against him, drawing it out longer and longer until Matt's oversensitized and whimpering and shivering through the desperate aftershocks and wanting more and more.  
  
Omar pulls him in for a kiss to muffle his own cry when he comes and leaves a hot slickness between Matt's thighs.  
  
They collapse together, Omar's face buried in Matt's neck, both trying to catch their breath. “You okay?” Omar asks before Matt can even get his head on straight.  
  
Matt blinks, considers this. “...yeah. Wow. Yeah, I feel...”  
  
“Uh-huh?” Omar prompts.  
  
“I feel...like a sweaty, gross mess.”  
  
Omar laughs and kisses him over and over again, little nipping pecks that make Matt's toes curl. “Duly noted.” The handtowel is summoned, and Omar intently wipes them both dry, then rolls Matt away from the damp spot on the sheets with a wrinkled nose that's so cute that it makes Matt's heart sing. When Matt's settled on top of Omar on the other side of the bed, heavy and sleepy, he hears Omar softly ask “Is it too soon to ask if you wanna stay the night?”  
  
Matt smiles slowly and presses a kiss to the curve of Omar's pectoral, shaking his head. “No. No, not at all.”


End file.
